


Hope You Know My Name

by ssswampert



Series: 24 Hours [3]
Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 08:04:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10213184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssswampert/pseuds/ssswampert
Summary: “Are you eating tonight?”“Not if he is cooking,” Winter snips, glaring once more at the cook, who shoots a grin and a middle finger at her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the only fic in this series that does not follow the Food-Only name scheme, solely because it isn't focused on IronQrow.

“Hi, honey!” Amber greets the other woman as she comes into The Nest. “It’s nice to see you again.” She sets out silverware on the table at a booth and gestures with an easy smile.

Winter nods and slides into the booth. “I’ll have coffee, please, Amber,” she says. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel better than last time you came in,” Amber says, scribbling in her ticketbook. “You take cream, right, hun?”

Half of Winter feels like Amber only calls her these pet names because it’s part of her personality; part of her charm; that she doesn’t know Winter’s name. The rest of Winter hopes it’s because she likes Winter. _Likes_ her. That she feels the way Winter feels for her.

Of course, that can’t be possible. Not with how they keep meeting–while Amber is at work. Winter wouldn’t want to be one of _those people_ : usually older men that mistake simple politeness for flirtation and use that as an excuse to prey on women.

Winter is a grad student at the nearby University, and Amber can’t be that much older (or younger) than her, but Winter still keeps to herself. At least, as much as she can when she goes to The Nest entirely too late at night just to see Amber.

“Sweetie?” Amber prods. “You take cream right?” she asks again.

“Oh! Uh, yes. I do,” Winter replies haltingly.

“Alright.” Amber smiles at her. “You seemed a little lost,” she says, tucking hair behind her ear.

“I, well…” Winter feels herself redden and hates herself just a little bit more when she catches the eye of the cook and he smirks at her. She frowns and narrows her eyes, and the cook sticks out his tongue and turns back to the grill. “Just thinking,” she says. “I’ve got a lot going on.”

And a lot was a bit of an understatement. It was difficult to keep her father believing that she was going to a study group and not in a small, dingy (homey) diner on the edge of downtown, not when she came home clutching a styrofoam cup of cheap coffee blaring the name of the diner because she forgot to throw it out in the street bin after she got out of her car.

It was difficult to keep her father believing that she liked men at all, not when she didn’t, not when she was enamoured with the waitress she was coming to see nearly every night under the pretense of “just getting off work” or “just getting out of class” when she didn’t work and her classes ended several hours ago.

Amber set a steaming mug and a handful of cream cups in front of her, jerking her out of her thoughts. “I get you,” she says. And then, “Are you eating tonight?”

“Not if _he_ is cooking,” Winter snips, glaring once more at the cook, who shoots a grin and a middle finger at her.

“Qrow!” Amber chastises shrilly. “Don’t flip off customers!”

“Look, Snow Queen started it!” Qrow replies, nearly just as shrill.

“I’ll have you know,” Winter interjects, “My name is Winter.”

“Yeah, don’t care,” Qrow replies, peeling off his gloves and dropping them into what Winter assumes is a garbage can. He leans over and starts speaking quietly to someone at what Amber calls the low bar, and Winter rolls her eyes at how suddenly flirty his body language is.

“So you’re not eating, Winter?” Amber says again. Her name falls like gold from Amber’s lips, and Winter wants to hear it over and over and over again. She shakes her head. “Okay. Here.” She pulls a sheet off her ticketbook and sets it face down on the napkin holder at the edge of the booth. Next to her swirl of a name is a small heart, and Winter feels her own leap.

“Want to come around and sit with me?” slips out of Winter’s mouth before she can stop it.

“Sure!” Amber smiles, wide and sincere, and comes out through the back of the building. She slides into the booth across from Winter, and Winter hopes her own smile isn’t dopey and lovestruck.

The way Amber’s eyes and smile both soften says it must be, but Winter can’t bring herself to care much.


End file.
